Tender Loving Care
by Adele Elisabeth
Summary: Drusilla keeps her promises.


Disclaimer: _Dear Santa, for Christmas I would like a Giles, a Wesley, a Spike and a Doyle. I've been extra good. Love, Adele_

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Author's Note

Happy non-denominational winter festivity, Kit Kat. One Dru/Wes comin' up. 

Have only seen up to the episode where Wesley gets his throat slit, so everything after that is going on all those lovely spoilers. Mostly I'm ignoring everything after that, taking my own slant on what I've heard. Also, I forget what happened to Drusilla, so for the purposes of this story, she just plain vanished some time after the lawyer buffet. 

Apologies, Drusilla's a little OOC. She's rather sane, for one. Which, if I continue this and make it a series, will be explained in one of the later stories. There's a rather vague not-quite-explanation here, but a proper one will come if I actually continue this. Big if, me lazy. 

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Tender Loving Care 

By Adele Elisabeth

Drusilla keeps her promises. 

Wesley stared moodily into his glass, resisting the urge to feel the red, raw scar on his neck for the nth time. 

He was alive. He was alone, miserable and unfortunately not yet drunk, but he was alive. 

Somehow, it wasn't a particularly pleasant thought. 

He paid for his last drink, and stood up. Time to go…home. 

***

The Englishman sighed to himself as he got inside his apartment, closing the door behind him and leaning on it, eyes closed. 

They snapped open moments later, as a vaguely familiar voice chirped, "You're home! Miss Edith said you were coming soon, she did." 

Wesley stared. Drusilla was standing in his apartment. And, if he wasn't mistaken, wearing an apron. There was some flour in her hair, and her feet were bare. She reminded him oddly of the wife of one of his old friends – there'd always been something baking, children scurrying underfoot, with this rock of calm and caring named Emily beaming at him and offering him some more tea. 

She also reminded him unpleasantly of her sire, and it hadn't escaped him that she was an evil, soulless vampire, who had somehow gotten inside his apartment. He was fairly sure that was impossible, yet there she stood. 

Misinterpreting his expression, Drusilla moved closer to fuss over him, taking his jacket and steering him into the living room, patting him soothingly on the shoulder. "Has the Angelbeast been bothering you again, my Wesley? You sit right there and Dru will take good care of you, oh yes I will. I made cake!" With that cheery announcement, she bustled into the kitchen. 

If one ignored the clearly bizarre behaviour, a rather bemused Wesley thought, she almost sounded sane. He felt it was possibly wisest to humour her for now, not particularly wishing to offend the inhumanly strong vampiress while he was tired, sore and not entirely sober. That in mind, he sat down. 

When Drusilla came back, bearing a tray of tea and cake, she sat it on his lap and then sat down next to him, chattering at him as she encouraged him to eat. He was somewhat suspicious, but it smelled all right… 

"The little box rang for you," Drusilla told him earnestly as he took a tentative bite of the cake. It wasn't that bad, he admitted grudgingly. "I didn't much care for her tone," she said, sniffing. "I told her you don't want to talk to bad girls like her." She rested her hand on his arm. "You have me!" 

He forced a smile, wondering what the buggering hell was going on. 

***

Drusilla watched Wesley sleep, smiling to herself. He looked so sweet when he was asleep. He looked so sweet when he was awake, too, but he looked a little less burdened now. 

She'd missed him so, in the years. He'd grown up to be everything she'd known he would be. She was so proud of him. "My Wesley," she murmured, stroking his cheek gently. "A lady must always keep her promises." 

***

When Wesley woke up, it was morning. All the curtains were still pulled, and the lamp next to him was on. Drusilla's dress was draped neatly across the end of his bed, and there was a dent in the pillow next to him. 

"Breakfast," her cheery voice floated through to him, followed soon after by the woman (-pire) herself, carrying a tray with scrambled eggs, bacon, toast and fruit juice. 

"Drusilla," he began, but she cut him off. 

"Do you want to go out for dinner tonight?" she asked, not waiting for an answer before she continued, "Miss Edith says you're all skin and bones, and I agree. We could go dancing, too," her eyes sparkled as she spoke. "The pretty one with the cow-eyes stopped by while you were sleeping, but I sent her on her way," she added. "Grandmummy never liked her." 

Lilah? Lilah Morgan had been here again? And she'd seen…God. This just got better and better, didn't it? 

"Drusilla, really, as delightful as this is—" 

She beamed at him. 

"—I'm really rather confused. What on earth is going on here?" 

"I'm taking care of you, my darling." She told him, a curious look on her face. "You made me promise." 

He stared at her. 

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"I have to go, poppet." 

He stared up at her, realisation dawning in brilliant blue eyes. "You'll come back, though? Won't you?" he pleaded, desperately. 

"Oh, my little darling," she sighed, gathering the little boy onto her knee and cradling him gently in her arms. "One day. One day. I'll watch over you, poppet, and we'll be together again before you know it." 

"You said you'd take care of me," he said, his voice accusing. She was reminded of the day she'd found him, locked away in that awful cupboard under the stairs, trying so hard not to cry, terrified. Pain…oh, how she adored it, but…for some reason, some indescribable reason, this darling little boy…she didn't want him to hurt like she had, to hurt at all. She'd kept him safe, she and Spike living in the abandoned wing of the enormous house, unnoticed. Spike had taken quite a shine to the little boy, who'd called him 'sir' so politely…they were his world, she and her Spike – William to little Wesley. And now…they had to leave. Living in the house of a Watcher was possibly one of the most outrageously bold (or stupid) moves, and Spike didn't want to risk it too long. He'd miss the boy, but he stood firm. Drusilla sighed. 

"My darling, my precious little one, I shall always take care of you. Whenever you need me, I'll know." 

"Promise?" 

"I promise." She dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Shall I be welcome, in those days to come?" she inquired, giving him a little smile as she spoke. 

"You'll always be welcome at my home," he told her, and she smiled. 

"Come, my Wesley. We have gifts to give before we leave." 

He cleared her mind, he did, she mused as they walked. As if the fog were lifted…she didn't know why, but she loved him all the more for it. "Come along, my Wesley," she repeated. "You'll love your gifts." 

She could almost see the memories of hours spent sitting on her knee while she read to him, or sneaking out to the garden, late at night, so she and Spike could teach him how to waltz. Spike had always complained some of her ideas about Wesley's education were simply absurd, but she'd insisted and he had let her do as she would. She remembered when Wesley first met Spike, calling him 'sir'. It had taken much coaxing to convince him it was all right to call him 'William' – or, on occasion, 'Will'. 

It hadn't really surprised her how Spike was with little Wesley…he'd always had a little bit of the old William left, and he was oddly good with children. 

But Wesley wasn't a child anymore, and Spike wasn't her boy anymore. She'd watched Wesley grow up, watched him become the man before her, and she was so proud of him. 

She'd never told him her real name, knowing what his family was and what he would be…she wanted his memories of her to be happy. Not to connect her to the things he would read. She'd called herself Lily, after the pretty flowers that Angelus had left in her coffin for her when first she rose. She watched as he struggled with the truth, something he valued so highly – that Lily and Will, the odd, curious couple that had spent autumn and winter in his home, his very own secret, were Drusilla and Spike. 

She was surprised he hadn't realised it earlier. 

"Lily?" 

She patted his cheek. "You're all grown up now, my Wesley. I'm so proud of you." 

***

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ONE MONTH LATER 

Wesley let Drusilla lean on him a little as they walked up the stairs to their new apartment – his old one wasn't really good for a vampire. If, a month ago, someone had told him that he would be living with a vampire without benefit of a soul, in love with said vampire, told him that he'd be fighting the forces of evil with one of their most famed at his side…well, he would've had them quietly committed. 

Lorne had forgiven him for what he'd done to him, and had understood the position he'd found himself in, but so far, he and Cordelia were the only ones speaking to him. Wesley could cope with that. Lorne had also mentioned a prophecy he might want to have a look into, which seemed to be talking about Drusilla – now that, that was rather more worrisome. 

"You're getting worry lines." Drusilla told him, innocently. "Stop thinking so hard." 

"I am not." He denied, trying to look stern. 

"Miss Edith says you are," she told him loftily, stepping into their apartment, which waited to be unpacked. 

"Miss Edith can—" 

Drusilla cut him off with a kiss. 

He worried too much, her Wesley. He was lucky he had her to look after him. 

Squealing as he swept her off her feet and into the bedroom, she decided she had more than her fair share of luck herself. 


End file.
